Portal Oneshots
by Lady Isludis
Summary: A collection of short stories inspired by one of my favourite games of all time. Some will be set in continuities like Suddenly Wheatley and Human Condition, some will stand on their own, some will be AU, and there might be a crossover sprinkled here and there. No chronological order.
1. Earworm

There was a room in the farmhouse that never got used.

At least, Wheatley never saw Chell use it.

Its door always stayed shut, and despite his curiosity (not to mention his infuriating tendencies toward misadventure), Wheatley's hand hovered over the doorknob countless times—never actually opening it.

Maybe he thought Chell would be angry with him for snooping—she certainly didn't seem to like him being in her room whether she was there or not—or maybe he was afraid of what he might find. An earlier run-in with a headcrab in the cellar had made him wary of wandering into unfamiliar spaces—or even familiar ones with the lights off, for that matter.

Sometimes, on the way to his own room, or back from the upstairs bathroom, he'd stop dead in his tracks—near or in front of that very door. He'd later recount how he thought he'd heard a noise but wasn't sure; it was so faint that he thought he might've imagined it.

Even more peculiar, though he didn't notice at first, was the catchy, melodic tune he kept humming, despite being uncertain of its origin. It wasn't until he caught Chell whistling the exact same tune that he paused, brow furrowed. Was it a coincidence that she strung together that same sequence of musical notes? Had she overheard him?

Now, Wheatley was no GLaDOS (at least, not anymore), but there were still circumstances under which he liked to experiment—mostly by doing something and seeing if and how Chell would react. In that sense, his science was purer, truer to its essence than hers had ever been, even if neither of them—or Chell, probably—would ever liken it to real, science-y science.

One evening, while Chell was within earshot, Wheatley hummed the tune, earning a pause and a raised eyebrow from her.

"Where did you hear that?" She asked, surprised, but not in a way he could read.

"I'm not sure…" He answered honestly. "I can't get it out've my head."

Chell sucked in her bottom lip, thoughtful.

"The turrets sang that song for me when I left…."

Now it was Wheatley's turn to be surprised. "Really? They did?"

Chell nodded. "Did you hear me singing it?"

Wheatley shook his head. Chell, singing? This was news! The ex-test subject barely spoke most of the time! "You sing?"

And so, he was no closer to finding out where he'd heard that song, let alone why it was so firmly lodged in his brain. That was, until the night he found that door—the door that never opened—ajar; a soft, golden glow radiated from within.

"Chell?"

"Yes?"

Gently, he pushed the door until he could poke his head in, and found Chell—sitting on the floor next to a companion cube by lamplight. He was about to ask what the cube was doing there when he heard it: the same sound he thought he'd heard in the hallway….

The same melody he'd been humming and Chell had, apparently, been singing.

Chell looked up at him, an almost-smile on her usually neutral face, and not the slightest bit perturbed by his presence. Her expression acknowledged him as if she'd been expecting him to come in this entire time.

His must have betrayed the question he intended to vocalize, because she nodded, and he instantly knew her response. She motioned with a head tilt for him to join her, and they both sat there together, listening to the cube's encore performance.


	2. Drunk

Chell didn't consider herself a big drinker.

She didn't mind red wine or sweet cocktails on special occasions, but she wouldn't seek out beer or strong-tasting spirits—wrinkling her nose at their too-bitter flavours like a child.

Once, though, she tried her hand at fruit liqueur.

The recipe had been passed along by a friend, who had recommended ageing the mixture for a couple of months. Chell filled a borrowed jar with Vodka and fruit—peaches, pears, berries—and hid it away in her cellar.

Close to Christmas, she sent Wheatley down there for a jar of pickled beets and a can of cranberry sauce. Some of the beets would be served with tonight's dinner, while the cranberries were for the twenty-fifth in a few days.

Wheatley agreed, vocally lamenting how low the ceiling was down there, how awkward it was for him to climb up and down the cellar stairs, and that he'd have to walk all the way around the outside of Chell's farmhouse in the cold to reach it— _all the way 'round!_ His boots crunched through freshly fallen snow, and she could hear him ranting to himself the whole way.

Still, for the fuss he made, Chell knew he'd do it for the beets—Wheatley liked beets.

He discovered the liqueur by accident, having already secured a jar of pickled beets but still in the process of searching for some cranberries. Compared to the ones Chell normally used, this jar was huge. There had to have been three—no, four litres of liquid in there at least! Its outside was painted with decorative flowers in red, orange, and yellow, and the whole thing was covered in about two months worth of dust.

It was also stuffed full of fruit!

Wheatley had only ever known Chell to make jams with fruit (sometimes applesauce or pie-filling) and she always seemed to crush or blend it rather than use whole slices. Was she pickling these for a change? Was pickled fruit even a thing?

More importantly, would it taste salty? Tangy? Sweet?

A mischievous smile played on Wheatley's lips. As long as he didn't drop the jar or spill any liquid on the cellar floor, Chell would never know!

Still, he'd have to be extra careful. He had a track-record for dropping and tripping over things, and Chell would probably smell this stuff on the floor the next time she came looking for produce.

Beets forgotten, Wheatley pushed some smaller jars aside, then hefted the big one into his arms. Getting the lid off was tricky—half-frozen fingers versus rusty locking mechanism while hugging the container to his body—but he succeeded, and without spilling a drop! That in itself was a victory.

So far, so good! He might just get away with this!

When opened, the jar had an unusual smell. It looked very much like the inside of a can of fruit cocktail, though. Wheatley snatched a peach slice off the very top and popped the whole thing in his mouth.

He frowned. It wasn't quite the flavour he was expecting. Sweet, definitely, but there was an extra "something" he couldn't identify. It was a different kind of sweet—one that Wheatley was sure he'd never experienced before.

He took a second look at the jar.

Once, he'd forgotten about a half-drunk glass of juice for a few days. When he went to taste it again, it was completely different—sort of sour.

Maybe, he thought, he should have another one. It would be a shame if Chell opened the jar in a month or two and found funky fruit.

He took another peach slice and slurped it, taking a moment to press it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue and really savour its juices. The extra flavour was still there, but he still wasn't sure if it was intentional—only Chell would know for sure!

Wheatley smacked his lips, debating whether he should just go upstairs and ask her, or sample just one more!

And while he was at it, he should probably try a couple of berries—and pears, even though he wasn't normally keen on pears. Did Chell like pears? If she did, she'd be mighty disappointed if she reached in and got a bad one.

Two pieces became four, became twelve, became shakily returning the jar to the metal shelf after consuming at least three whole peaches, half a pear, and ten to twenty berries—give or take.

What had he come down here for again? Turnips?

Upstairs, Chell was growing impatient.

She stomped her foot on the kitchen floor a couple of times to tell him to hurry up. What was he doing down there? Supper was almost ready!

For someone who hated the cold so much, Wheatley was certainly taking his time. On any other day, he'd have grabbed whatever he could find quickly and to hell with the rest! Unless, of course, he found those beets first.

To hell with everything that wasn't easily accessible—or beets.

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. At twenty, Chell let out an exasperated sigh. There was no reason for him to linger unless he was having trouble finding what she'd asked for—or he'd found something tasty to snack on. She didn't hear him carrying on anymore, either.

Chell's eyes narrowed.

If sound wasn't coming out, then food must be going in.

She removed the stew pot from the stove and grabbed her jacket and boots.

She was mildly shocked when she found him on the cellar floor, thinking something might be seriously wrong and scrambling to help, but then he looked up at her, cheeks flushed and grinning like an idiot.

"What did you do to those peaches?" He slurred. "I like peaches, but those tasted different. Not bad different…I don't think…what was I talking about?"

Chell glanced over at the liqueur jar—now missing almost an eighth of its contents. Her concern melted into a deadly glower.

The next half-hour was spent half-dragging Wheatley back into the house, which he seemed to think was entertaining in-between high-pitched giggling and chattering.

"I wasn't going to eat the pears" He hiccuped, "I don't think I should have, I don't even like pears! Wooooow! You're pulling me all by yourself!" He started to laugh, which turned into a wheeze. "I don't know why that's funny!"

Later, Chell would be thankful that she'd taken the stew off—as she wouldn't return to the kitchen for another twenty minutes. By then, she was dumping it into the largest container she could find and stowing it in the fridge; Wheatley probably wasn't going to want any until tomorrow.

When he sobered up, Chell scolded him, but also apologized for not warning him that liqueur had alcohol in it.

He never did enjoy peaches as much after that.


	3. The Kiss

Grey eyes met sky blue.

He shrank away, insides whirling with fragile wisps that he didn't dare disturb further—but she was determined to show him she meant no harm. A small, strong hand, rough from work, reached out to touch his cheek.

He let out a quiet gasp, shocked by the contact, but her touch was firm as it guided him to look at her. Simultaneous, contradictory gentility created a tingling ripple that swept over him—no, through him—and sky blues widened in bewilderment as cool greys pulled them in. Two portals each: earth and cosmos.

The spell was cast.

She could have dropped her hand and he'd not turn away, all apprehension gone—well, not gone, but so absorbed in her charm that he couldn't if he wanted to.

Electricity washed over his skin and stimulated every last follicle of hair. She hovered over him, eyes softening, but somehow deepening, and his limbs turned to jelly. Meanwhile, her arms snaked their way around his neck, pulling them closer together.

She moved slowly, fingers hooked to the fabric of his shirt, but eventually, she pressed her lips into his. His entire body went rigid, then melted—further, if it were possible, but it must be because he just was—into her arms.

He was utterly lost to the moment—they both were—not knowing where the swirling hazy heat began and where it ended. Questions went unasked: did she know what she did to him? Did he know how he made her ache to…do what? What could she consume that would satisfy this powerful craving?

No. It wasn't just a craving—not even a longing.

It was a need. He needed her; she needed him. They both needed each other more than either could express. Air. His and hers. They both needed air to live. She'd stolen his with her gaze, and he responded with an attempt to steal it back, in what became a back-and-forth battle for life-essence.

Everything was committed to memory, if only for a fleeting moment.

The two pulled themselves together as if they intended to merge as one. The haze deepened—intensified—washed over and into their essences until it began to spill over. Limbs became horribly entangled and lips sought to devour. Warmth radiated.

Sounds faded out—all replaced by velvety silence. The swirling heat became a string that pulled them both upward—backs arching—and held them in a suspended state of bliss. Moments passed, perhaps centuries, and the heat dispersed, allowing them to drift back to earth.

Sky blue eyes opened to cool greys, no longer apprehensive. She'd sung him a cosmic opera, and he'd joined her in a duet.

* * *

So um, I don't usually write smut? I'm more or less laughing at how Chell wants to CONSUME!


	4. Call Me Back!

"Hello, Chell? This is Wheatley. Call me when you get this message. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Hello, Chell? This is Wheatley again. Is your phone off? Because I need you to call me back as soon as possible. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell? It's Wheatley. I need you to call me back—because it's sort of urgent. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell? It's Wheatley again. I _desperately_ need to get in contact with you and I can't do that while your phone is off. Please call me back. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Hello, Chell? It's Wheatley again. Where are you? Are you still at the party? Why aren't you answering your phone? Are you in the bathroom? Hold on… _For God's sake, mate! It's a Halloween costume! There's a Vortigaunt over there in fairy wings! Get over it!_ Where was I? Right! Please call me back when you get out of the bathroom! Okay? Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell, it's Wheatley again. Please turn your phone back on. I need to talk to you, ASAP!"

-Beep-

"Chell" It's Wheatley. I still haven't heard back from you—are you okay? I'd appreciate it if you would call me so I know you're okay. Maybe send a text? It doesn't matter. Send anything! Honestly, I would take a carrier pigeon at this point. Hold on… _a little privacy, please? Thank you!_ Seriously though, please call me. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Me again, still here, still waiting for you to call me back. I honestly don't know what to do at this point. I don't have Mel's number, or I'd ask her to tell you to turn your phone back on. Call me!"

-Beep-

"What's the point in even HAVING a phone if you never answer it?! Really, lady! How is anyone supposed to get in contact with you, huh? Bloody hell! What if this were an _emergency?!_ I mean, it kind of is, just not of the 'life or death' sort—but what if it were? Ugh… Listen, I'm sorry I shouted, it's been a long night! Call me back as soon as you can. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell, it's Wheatley again. Funny story, there was a bit of a problem with my costume—which was amazing, by the way. The costume, I mean, the costume was amazing! There was nothing even _remotely_ amazing about— _would you please STOP staring? Gah! Children! Where are the parents?_ *Ahem* Where was I? Oh, right, my costume! I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. One thing lead to another, and now I'm stuck in the hospital. Agh! I probably would have won a prize if I'd been able to make it to the party wearing this—it's a real head-turner! Absolutely worthy of the hype! There's just a small problem: I may have inadvertently 'dazzled' a few people—and there is A LOT of uncomfortable staring going on. That kid you just heard me telling off? Completely mesmerized! He hasn't blinked in like, two straight minutes! It would be impressive if it weren't creepy."

"Listen, I'll be honest, I didn't want to lay all of this on you over the phone. Anyway, call me when you get this. Sooner rather than later, preferably, my battery's getting low. Bye!"

-Beep-

"It's Wheatley again. Could you bring McDonald's?"

-Beep-


	5. Where is he?

"Did he say what he was he wearing?"

"No. It was going to be a 'surprise'."

"You don't think he put on makeup?"

"I don't know."

"Well then how do we—"

"I found him."

"That was quick, where?"

"There."

"Where?"

"Over there."

"The vortigaunt-fairy?"

"No, a little more to the left."

"I still don't see him."

"He's right there!"

"Where?!"

"He's…kind of hard to miss…"

"I still don't…"

"Eleven O-clock. Sequins."

"Sequins? Sequins…sequins—oh!"

"See him now?"

"I think—wait… Chell, I'm pretty sure that's a woman…"

"Mel, that's a wig."

"No it isn—oh! You're right, oh… Oh Chell…"

"There you go."


	6. Forgot

"You completely forgot, didn't you?"

"What? _Pffft!_ No! No, of course not! No, I didn't forget."

"Uh huh…"

"See, I've actually gone and planned ahead this year. Figured I'd take the initiative, and why not? This close to the day everyone's all in a panic, lots of pushing and shoving, the lines are long… It's a mess! Really, it's a colossal mess, but this time I'm one step ahead of everybody!"

"So what'd you get her?"

"I… Uh… I got her a… U-umm… Thing… Definitely got her something. De-definitely did NOT forget to get her something for Valentine's day."

"You didn't get her anything."

"No no no I did, I did! I did, I _swear_ I did! I _did_ get her something. I just haven't… Well, I haven't exactly wrapped it yet, see, and um… I-it was kind of a while back, several months back, see, planned ahead, like I said… Well, now that I think about it it might've been _too_ far ahead. See, I kind of, sort of, don't actually remember what it was that I, uh, you know…"

"Wheatley, you are a terrible liar."

"It's not a lie! I distinctly remember going into a shop for something else and then I saw it, on a shelf, a-and then I remember thinking, do you know who might like that? Chell! Chell would probably _love_ that! Yep, think I'm gonna get this for Chell. Ohoho, and would you look at that? It's on sale! Brilliant! And now who's gonna look like the _best_ boyfriend ever? Take a wild guess… That's right, it's me!"

"Okay, now _that_ sounds like you."

"Huh, I know right? So I bought this thingy, whatever it was, still don't remember, and then I thought, 'better put this someplace safe', you know, so she wouldn't find it a month early and ruin the surprise, so I did, and now…"

"You forgot where you put it?"

"Yes. But, and here's the 'but', in my defence, this was before I knocked my head."

"Which time?"

"Oh, you remember… When I was supposed to go to that costume party?"

"You mean when you wiped out on the porch steps in six-inch heels and broke your ankle?"

"Bingo. Wait… How did you know about the—"

"The sequinned dress? Wheatley, c'mon, everybody knows about that…"

"I don't understand. How? The only people who would've even seen me that night were Chell and, maybe Mel? Chell wouldn't… Does that mean _Mel_ told everybody? That costume was supposed to be a surprise! No one else should have known! I-I didn't think she was the type, I honestly didn't… Of all the… Ugh! This is humiliating. This is utterly _humiliating_. I mean the costume itself was _amazing_ but… _Ugh!"_

"Sooo, what are you gonna do about Chell?"

"Chell? What about Che—oh! Valentine's Day, right. Hmmm… Well, I suppose I could find her something else. It's not like I haven't got time. Still got _LOADS_ of time left to find her a present. Maybe a nice card, a nice box of chocolates…"

"…some makeup, a dress…"

"Hmmm, don't think I've seen her wear either… Except Halloween, she painted her face like a skeleton. Well, you would've seen her. You were at the party."

"Maybe get her a little something with sequins."

"Not funny."

"Heh… Anyway, you might want to hurry up and get on that, Casanova. Clock's tickin'."

"You know what? Fine! I will! I'll get on that right now. Satisfied? I still have… Six, wait… Five-and-a-half hours left. Until it's technically Valentine's Day. Okay, leaving now. Oop—"

*BANG*

" _Ow, ow, my knee! Ow…_ That really—Rick! Rick, it's not funny… That really… _Ow…_ Please stop laughing… Could you… Could you hand me a napkin? Anything? My drink's just gone everywhere. Is that gonna get on my—yep, there go my pants. _Ow…_ Could I borrow your jacket?"


	7. April Fools

It was the first of April and all through the cabin…

…actually, things seemed pretty calm for the moment.

Chell had just gotten back in from some errands, carrying two loudly-crinkling plastic bags full of groceries in each hand, but they weren't quite loud enough to mask the snickering coming from somewhere down the hallway.

She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose, allowing the bags to rest on the floor. They stopped crinkling in an instant, but the snickers went on a fraction of a second longer, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

"Wheatley?"

"Yes, love?"

Wheatley quickly shuffled out of his hiding spot and stood before Chell, wearing what was quite possibly the biggest, most shameless grin she'd ever seen; his left arm was tucked behind his back. It didn't take her long to guess his intentions.

"You seem in a good mood." Chell raised an eyebrow.

"I've got a surprise for you, love." He sang, as if he'd been waiting to do this all day—he probably had.

Chell sighed. "You brought me flowers?"

"No," He shook his head, still beaming, "but have another guess, go on!"

"You did all the dishes?" She teased, folding her arms.

"Aah…" Wheatley bit his lip and ran his free hand through his hair. He obviously hadn't anticipated her not playing along. "Chell, this is… Augh! This is probably the biggest surprise since that beautiful ring on your lovely finger, if I do say so myself…"

"How about," Chell suggested, pausing for a moment to make it seem like she was deep in thought, "we get these bags into the kitchen first?"

Now it was Wheatley's turn to sigh. He placed his hands on his hips, doing his best to play it cool. "Well, I suppose you would want to be sitting down for this. Kind of a 'big' announcement… Perhaps we could discuss it over a nice cup of tea?"

Chell picked up a couple of grocery bags and proceeded towards the kitchen, noting that Wheatley made a point to walk behind her so she couldn't see what he was holding. Once she neared the archway, she slowed her pace, causing him to almost bump into her.

"Love, please!" He laughed as Chell continued to make herself an obstacle, moving from side to side as he did to block his entry. "Let me through!"

This went on for several minutes, him trying to slip past and Chell planting herself in his path each time.

"Chell, please!" He finally complained. The tone of his voice told her that he was no longer amused. Chell seized the moment to place her bags on the floor and launch a tickle attack on his unguarded ribs.

"Chell NO—" Wheatley recoiled, bashing his head on the low kitchen archway. He laughed and squirmed in between 'ow's, begging Chell to have mercy. While he was distracted, she slipped behind him and grabbed the thing he'd been trying to hide. Wheatley's smile disappeared, replaced by an expression of horror. "No!"

"What is this?" Chell asked, scrutinizing the object. Wheatley had tried to trick her with things like hand buzzers before, but this—

"I'm PREGNANT!" He suddenly cheered.

Chell's eyes widened. She glanced back and forth between Wheatley, who was watching expectantly (pun not intended), and the pregnancy test—where in the seven hells had Wheatley gotten a pregnancy test!?

Meanwhile, Wheatley's smile had returned in full force. "Had you going that time, didn't I?" He rocked on his heels. "I mean, it's pretty obvious that I'm not, you know, since that would be biologically impossible, I'm told, but I still had you going! Oh, you should've seen the look on your face! Absolutely gobsmacked!"

"Okay, " Chell finally admitted, still flustered, "that one was pretty good."

"It was, wasn't it?" Wheatley could barely contain his pride at having finally pulled one over on Chell. Chell—the woman, the legend! "Brilliant plan, masterfully executed… Almost… But I still got you! Once in a while I do have good ones! Ideas, I mean…"

"One question, where did you find a fake positive pregnancy test?"

"Um, actually, that's real." Wheatley explained. "Didn't think I'd pass it though, funny coincidence… Oh and, uh, you might want to wash your hands…"


	8. Meet the Dangerous Mute Lunatic

"Let's get one thing straight: I am _not_ mute."

*Cut to footage of Chell screaming as she fires a weapon*

"Re-integrating into society is harder than most people realize. Think of _every_ time you've had to show ID. I'll wait…"

*Cut to Chell screaming as she ambushes an enemy scout, who drops his weapon and screams in terror as he falls in an infinite loop*

" _Lunatic?_ Is _that_ what they've been saying? You've interviewed some of these people, no doubt you've seen what I'm talking about. Bloodlust—"

*Cut to an enemy soldier being flung through a portal into a wall, which he slowly slides down*

"Safety isn't in the job description to begin with, but _come on!_ _Rocket jumping?! Son idiotas!"_

*Cut to footage of Chell screaming as she knocks over an enemy sentry*

"It's not that I wouldn't prefer 'honest' work, it's just not possible without a social security number. This pays the bills!"

*Cut to montage of enemies being flung through portals and struck by flying cubes*

"It's nothing personal."

*Cut to Chell flinging herself through multiple portals*

"I do what I have to to survive."

*Cut to Team Fortress 3 logo and theme music*


	9. Meet the Moron

"Is it…is it rolling? D'you need a minute or…? It's rolling, okay. Um…hello! My name is Wheatley, and I hack things!"

*Cut to footage of enemy entry sparking and firing at its own team*

"I'll be honest, I _did_ have a bit of assistance in getting the sapper on—but otherwise that was me, I did that! See, Spy goes and slaps one of these… _devices_ …on enemy sentries and—oop!"

*Footage cuts to static, then back to the interview room, where Wheatley is holding the device he'd dropped earlier*

"Are we rolling again? We are? Brilliant! So, as I was saying, Spy attaches this little device here to the enemy's 'tech', which allows me to hack into it and take control."

*Cut to footage of Wheatley sitting in Sniper's nest as he tries repeatedly to guess passwords via a briefcase laptop*

"It's not as easy as it sounds…"

*Cut back to Wheatley who's still guessing passwords as half-a-dozen sticky bombs, a battle axe, and a few arrows suddenly plaster the wall behind him*

"I will confess, it _is_ hard to set up a proper 'hacker cave' when you're being shot at. Leads to a lot of expensive equipment getting damaged."

*Cut to montage of Wheatley running away screaming*

"Ohoho…he'll try to deny it but I _AM_ faster than Scout!"

*Cut back to Wheatley, still running, who actually manages to pass his team's Scout before tripping over his own feet and stumbling into a pile of crates*

"I mean, look at these legs! I'm no track star but this _definitely_ helps!"

*Cut to footage of Wheatley bonking his head on a floor he's sitting under with his laptop, alerting an enemy soldier to his presence*

"I know what you're probably thinking, 'Wheatley, sapping sentries isn't all that useful, mate!', which might be a fair assessment if that was all I did. Nevermind portal-fizzling—"

*Cut to montage of various portals closing before enemies can run or fly through them, resulting in numerous crashes, pile ups, and the occasional severed body part*

"—or my gel gun—"

*Cut to montage of enemies screaming as they slip, bounce, and stick in various gel traps, then back to Wheatley laughing maniacally in the interview room until he takes a coughing jag, takes a puff from an inhaler and adjusts his now crooked glasses*

"I'm good… I'm good… Ugh… I don't know what I'd do without this healthcare package…"

*Cut to Team Fortress 3 logo and theme music*


	10. What are We?

"Um…Chell?"

Said ex-test subject hummed sleepily, not even opening her eyes despite that Wheatley had just called her by name instead of "lady" or "love" for a change.

"What are we?" He responded with a question.

"What do you mean?" Chell yawned, registering his query but not its implication.

"Well, you were already a human, and now _I'm_ a human, apparently, but," He paused, mouth hanging open while he scrambled to find the right words, "w-what are you and I?"

Chell's brow furrowed, eyes still shut. The corners of her mouth turned downward. This wasn't her puzzle face. This was something else. Something that Wheatley couldn't quite identify.

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is," He ventured, "are we…friends?"

Chell's expression remained hard for a moment. She shifted, the noise of rustling blankets heralding what might yet be Wheatley's greatest comfort—or a dagger to his heart—and inhaled as though she might speak.

Wheatley tensed, still and quiet as he could manage, lest the tiniest sound drown out any response; he could even hear the old clock as it ticked away down in the living room.

He suddenly became aware of Chell's breathing, which had slowed, become deep and even in the time it took him to become hopelessly entangled in a web of anxiety.

It finally occurred to Wheatley that he was waiting in vain, and he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.


	11. Virus Scan

"Exactly how long is this going to take?"

"That depends…"

"On what?"

"Technical specifications, individual software configurations—"

"Just a rough estimate."

"Eight to twelve hours."

Wheatley did a double take. "That long?!"

"Virus scans can take a while on larger hard drives." Virgil explained. "You can go into sleep mode if you want."

Wheatley groaned. "I'm fully charged, mate! I couldn't do that if I wanted to!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you."

A couple of minutes went by in silence.

"So, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Wheatley asked.

Now it was Virgil's turn to groan. "Whatever you want. I don't care. So long as it doesn't involve unplugging yourself until the scan is finished."

Another long pause.

"I have a big hard drive, don't I?"

Virgil forced Wheatley into sleep mode.


End file.
